ALIBI 2003: The Sequel
by Wolseley37
Summary: Marcey sorted everything for Greg when he had his spot of bother with Martin . Can they move forward together? Or will there need to be a bit of sorting done for Marcey's past relationship, too? (Rated T for a bit of violence.)
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Alibi 2003 - The Sequel

**Disclaimer:** 'Alibi,' the story and characters were created by Paul Abbott. I have no rights to his creation, and have only extended his ideas to continue the story into an imagined 'sequel.' No infringement is intended.

**Feedback:** Yes please!

**A/N: **First posted on the _Nothing Fancy Forum_, under _MK - Other Roles FanFic_, on March 16, 2006.

I've written this in a style following _Quietly Enigmatic Forum_ member 'Lynndean's' wonderfully detailed summaries of the episodes as shown on British television, and posted on the _Nothing Fancy - Michael Kitchen_ site back in 2003, so I hope you can imagine the scenes visually.

It's not exactly a film script, nor are the characters' inner thoughts as fully described as in a short story, so I guess it's something between the two.

(Posting this by request, for Jewell.)

* * *

PART 1

To set the scene:

_Follows a few days after the end of the original story._

_Marcia has agreed to meet Greg at a neutral outdoor location where they can walk and talk privately. They both looked forward to meeting, in theory, but the reality of being face to face again, with no immediate crisis to sort out, has them both a little out of their depth._

_Marcey's mood is curious, interested, but she has no expectations that Greg will come round to any sort of decision about her. Greg is, as usual, a bit keyed up, but for a different reason now. Despite his best intentions he soon falls back on the subject that first brought them together._

_The location is an embankment along a river._

_They walk slowly side-by-side. _

"Well, umh, how are you holding up?"

Greg gives a little shrug of his shoulder.

"I dunno – I'm stunned; dazed. The house is empty – I'm roaming from room to room. Linda's gone down to Devon with her 'would've-been' father-in-law. That's some comfort to her, I suppose."

"Yeah. I suppose it would be."

"The thing I don't get is …"

_As he launches into the old topic, he doesn't see Marcia's long-suffering roll of the eyes._

"If she really didn't know about the hundred and twenty grand, can't she at least now see that this whole past year – all the bloody stress, all the money trouble we thought we had – it was all crap; it was all his bloody doing? There was _nothing_ wrong with the business. There was _nothing_ wrong with the house. And I was not the total –."

"Greg, she opened that account with Martin last June."

_He drops his head a little, resigned to the truth._

"Yeah. Yeah, she did. Doesn't matter, does it? Water under the bloody bridge."

_Greg shoves his hands deep in his trouser pockets, dejected. Marcia hopes to bring him round to some sort of closure on the whole experience._

"Why do you think Martin did it?"

_Greg stares at her,wide-eyed._

"Other than the fact that he was a rotten, thieving, lying bastard? Gee, I dunno."

"Well, think about it, Greg – where were _you_ at… two years ago? – Just to pick a timeline. And where was _he_ at two years ago?"

"Two years ago? I'd just bought the house; moved the business to new premises; big contracts coming in. Martin? He'd split up with Carole. Sold his place. What's that got to do with _me_? I never shagged _his_ wife."

"Don't you think he was jealous? I mean, from what you've told me, he was the sort who always had everything under perfect control, but his life was falling apart. Whereas you – you were coming into your stride, right? You were busy; everything you were doing was a success. Perhaps Martin couldn't accept seeing you that way – as a very successful person, more successful than him. The one chink in your armour – and I'm only speculating – your one weakness was Linda – your relationship with Linda."

_Greg looks up and stares off across the river. He struggles with the possibility of revealing something crucial, but after walking several minutes in silence, settles on,_

"She never really liked the house."

_Marcey sees his inner conflict, but doesn't challenge him._

"So … Martin's getting sympathy from Linda because of his marriage break-up; Linda makes no secret that she's not entirely happy; I mean, you knew that, right?"

"Yeah. I thought it was just a rough patch."

"Probably was, but Martin took advantage of it. Forced the issue."

"_Christ._ I just …let her stew in her own juice for a bit."

"_Hmm_. Why _did_ you buy the house?"

"I liked it. I loved the look of it. I wanted it. I thought it would give us a better life, away from the city. And! – I could claim the whole new wing as a business expense, because of the show room. Martin told me that; he was the clever one with money and tax. And … well, I thought she'd love it when it was finished."

_He makes a dismissive sound, but then blurts out,_

"Do _you_ like the house, Marcey?"

_She reacts with wide-eyed disbelief and immediately starts walking away fast along the embankment. He curses himself and trots along after her._

"Sorry, sorry, that was stupid. Forget I said it."

_He catches up and falls into step beside her._

"Bugger the house. I'll sell it and fit out a flat over the shop."

"You don't have to do that. Finish it. You've got plenty of money."

_He looks at her oddly, not sure if he is hearing an edge of hostility in her voice. She continues walking quickly, but says reasonably,_

"Look, I don't really know why we've met today, Greg. You got your verdict; you've got your money; you're in the clear with Linda. You don't need –."

_She stops herself from finishing._

_Greg looks at her sideways, slightly panicked at the thought of having to come round to the point._

"Well, it's only been the most terrifying experience of my life, and I'd never have got through it without you."

"It's over now."

"Well, yeah, the terrifying part, but, but – Post Traumatic Shock?"

"I'm not a _licensed_ therapist, if that's what you need."

"No! Look, Marcey, in your flat... I said, 'we can't just walk away.' But what I meant, what I really meant to say was, 'do we have to walk away…?'"

_She continues walking without answering – obviously she can, if he won't give her a reason not to. He continues to walk quickly beside her._

"Marcey, you know more about me than anyone in my life, and – and I know a bit about you – not a lot, it's been a bit one-sided - yeah, totally one-sided, I admit. But I know your character. I know what sort of person you are, and it's just that we – we've been incredibly honest with each other –."

_Marcia's sceptical look switches him onto a different track._

"Right, that's absolute bollocks. But we _trust_ each other, don't we? I – I know I trust you, Marcey, and we were at least working together on the _same lie_, which is a hell of a lot more than I've had with Linda, isn't it? I mean, you and me, we were actually _working together_ on the same side, which _I_ always thought was what a couple were meant to do, and I realized Linda wasn't– the truth is, Linda hasn't been on my side for a long time, not just this year, but for bloody ages –."

"A couple?"

_She has stopped abruptly and he has to turn back to face her._

"Hmm?"

_ Greg shifts nervously, knowing she's landed on the most dangerous word._

"What do mean, 'a couple'?"

"Well, two …people …together."

"What are you driving at, Greg? Cause so far… you haven't said anything to _me_ about it."

"Well, I thought –. I mean, I just thought –. You're _here_, aren't you, Marcey? You phoned me– No, no, I _asked_ you to phone; I know. And you _did_, which was lovely, and – and I said, 'why don't we meet and, and go for a walk,' and you said, 'all right.' And you're here –."

"You said that. I think we've established that I _am_ here."

"Right. _Umm_..."

_He trails off, swallows, unable to say what he wants._

"Yeah, right. Look, Greg. You don't know a lot about me but let me tell you this, at least: I'm the sort of person who likes to have things pretty clear. I don't like to have to guess, so maybe –."

_Greg is disheartened and says dully,_

"Well, me neither… And Christ knows, I'm not any bloody good at it."

"– _Maybe_ you could let me know what it is you're thinking, or hoping or –."

_The word 'hoping' seems to take the last of his confidence away; he sits on the low stone wall, looking defeated. Marcia sees his reaction and feels sympathy for him; putting aside her own frustration, she makes a decision and sits down beside him._

"Cause… maybe we're on the same track, I dunno. How can I know if you don't –?"

"Talk."

_He makes a rueful face because this is Linda's old complaint._

"No. You _are_ talking; but you've skipped over the part where you tell _me_. Try seeing it from my view. It's not like there's been anyone to take me aside and let me know you've been pointing me out to your mates saying, _'see that bird? I fancy her.'_ I mean, as far as I know you're just very grateful – 'Thanks, Marcey; you've been brilliant.'" _She gives a little wave of her hand._ 'Now piss off back to Failstone.'"

_At the word 'fancy' Greg comes back to life, looks at her, and even smiles at her little performance. He turns and faces her directly, and puts his hand on her arm in the same way he had at her flat, only now he has the confidence to look her in the eyes. He shakes his head slowly,_

"Don't … piss off back to Failstone, Marcia."

_He moves both his hands to her shoulders, and sees that she has become suddenly shy, not able to look him in the face, and it surprises him. He finds it rather appealing, not knowing what lies behind the shyness._

_Very slowly he moves in close, rests his forehead on hers and waits for her response._

_Tentatively they move towards a kiss that begins hesitantly but ends with full commitment on both sides. Greg holds her in his arms, calm and at peace, all of his manic energy now dissipated._

_Marcia is both blissful and worried, smiling now, but with brows drawn down; she has a secret._

_Greg says quietly,_

"That _was_ a move, just now."

"Yeah, I thought it might be."

_Greg sits back, just holding her hand in both of his._

"Marcey, you _will_ tell me about Stevenage, won't you? I do want to know."

_Her face shows a mix of pleasure that he has asked, and pain at the thought of talking about it. She wrinkles her nose and confesses,_

"I'd have to have a lot of drink first."

"We might … just start with the schnauzer, then."

_She laughs and kisses him._

"Have dinner with me tonight? Pick a restaurant."

"Oh, I've a catering job. I can't let the others down."

"What time will you finish?"

"Late. Two-ish."

"Tomorrow, then?"

"I've an earlier job; I should be home by ten."

"You'll be tired. You'll want to go straight to b– t-to sleep."

_She smiles to herself as he stumbles over the words._

"No, I always need to unwind for an hour or so after catering. You could pop round. We could talk about schnauzers, and why _you_ don't have a Labrador."

tbc...


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

_The next evening at Rose Hill House:_

_Greg is wandering restlessly around the den, the television flickering and chattering in the background. He walks into the dining room and squats down to choose a bottle of wine from the wine rack, reads the label then chooses a different, larger bottle. He sets it on the table, checks the time on his watch, and with an air of expectation goes upstairs to shower and dress._

_In Greg's car:_

_Greg is driving, the bottle of wine on the seat beside him. He pulls his mobile out of his breast pocket. He has Marcey's number on one-touch calling now, but the mobile rings once and then trills to signal the battery is dead. He rolls his eyes but then smiles, thinking of how Marcia knew he was lying on the day of the inquest. He turns the phone off and fits it into the car-charger. As he turns off the motorway at the Failstone exit, he makes a little face and says the word 'special'._

_He parks outside her flat on Pritchard Street, sees her lights are on and, carrying the wine bottle, walks up to ring the door. He hears noises inside but gets no response; he rings again and then hears a male voice shouting angrily and Marcia's voice answering defensively and fearfully. He tries the door and it opens, so he walks slowly up the stairs, listening and trying to figure out what's happening in her flat._

_The male voice is cursing and threatening, and Marcia's voice is pleading for him to go home. Greg stands listening near the top of the stairs, but can see nothing and no one. He hears a crash of furniture and a cry from Marcia. He calls out her name and the male voice shouts,_

"Who in hell's this, then? Got yourself a boyfriend, you useless cow – more like a paying customer. I knew you'd sink to that level, stinking whore!"

_Greg hears a distinct slap and a cry of pain; he bounds up the stairs and walks quickly, tense and alert into the sitting room, but it is empty. He calls Marcia's name again as he moves through the hall towards the closed kitchen door. The male voice shouts,_

"Clear off, she's not working tonight. Not for you, at least"

_Greg steps back as if to kick in the door, but then thinks to turn the handle. The door opens on the horrifying scene of Marcia pushed face down over the small kitchen table, an arm twisted painfully and held pinned behind her back. A tall, brutish, drunken man is standing behind her, apparently about to force himself onto her. Greg recognizes him from the photo as her ex-husband, big Ben. He shouts angrily to get his attention._

"Hey!"

_Ben turns his head sharply; his free hand is on the fly of his unfastened trousers, and he is clearly unimpressed with the intruder._

"Clear off, you tosser!"

_He reaches to pick up a vase by the sink and hurls it at him. Greg ducks out of the way as it shatters against the doorframe._

_When Marcia sobs in pain and fear Ben wrenches her arm and shouts,_

"I'll f****n' break it!"

_Ben glares down at her triumphantly and Greg is galvanized into action._

_He rushes forward - and in one fluid motion swings the heavy wine bottle up at full arm's length and smashes it against the side of the drunken man's head._

_Glass and red wine spray across the wall and cupboard doors. Ben is knocked sideways from the blow; his head slams against the cupboard and, on the way down, cracks hard on the edge of the kitchen counter. His entire body shivers like a felled tree as he crashes to the floor, lying face up._

_Marcia pushes herself off the table and scrambles out of the way to cower on the floor in the corner beyond the sink. She pulls a chair in front of her as a shield, hyperventilating and staring in wide-eyed terror._

_Greg stands ready and waiting for the man to move, expecting to be attacked, clutching the broken neck of the wine bottle in his hand._

"Come on, you shit –!"

_But there is only a strangled sort of gurgling sound and then silence._

_Marcia's choking sobs gradually subside as she realizes Ben is not going to move – ever again. _

_They both stare at the body and then look across at each other, horror dawning on their faces._

"_Christ._ The son of a bitch –!"

_Marcia slowly rises to her feet, clutching her dressing gown at her throat, still pressed into the corner._

"I thought it was you at the door–. I didn't know he was drunk! I'd never have let him in if I'd known he was drunk!"

_She begins to weep helplessly. Her face is marked; her lip is cut and bleeding. Greg takes a step towards her, but she holds up her hand to stop him in his tracks._

"Don't touch me! Don't come near me!"

_He's shocked, hurt and confused, until she says,_

"DNA – they'd take samples from me and him. They can't find yours as well. Greg, if the police link our names together in this – after Martin –!"

"I know! I know! _Jes–_. It'd all be opened up again! Linda still can't – they'd never believe this wasn't planned! "

_He puts his hand to his forehead and stands thinking for a second, then turns to look at the body._

"Maybe he's not –."

_He steps over to make sure Ben is really dead, prodding him none too gently with the toe of his shoe._

"Bastard."

_Greg turns and looks at Marcia with a troubled question in his eyes, but glances away when she meets his gaze. He stares at the broken bottle in his right hand._

_Marcia is hurt by that questioning look. She lowers her head sadly, and then says quietly._

"Give me that."

_He hands it to her with a worried expression; she wipes it carefully on her dressing gown and then wraps her fingers around it._

"I did it. He attacked me. Self-defense. You were never here. Go home, and I'll make the call. We can't let any time go by."

"I can't just leave you here like this, Marcey – _Christ_."

"You have to. I mean it, Greg; go."

_He nods decisively, turns away in anguish and makes for the door, avoiding the broken fragments of the vase. As he passes the doorway he thinks to take out a handkerchief and wipe down the inside and outside door handles. But on the stairs he suddenly he remembers something else, curses and walks back to the kitchen entrance._

_He hears her weeping softly._

"Marcey?"

"Get out Greg; just go!"

"I'm sorry – the wine? It's a home kit. It's got Steph and Danny's label on it."

"_Shit_."

"It's pretty good, actually."

"They don't sell it in markets or anything?"

"No – just give it to friends and family. _Um_, the police might not look too closely – I can take the label bits away. I mean it's obvious what's happened here. Why would they reconstruct the bottle?"

"They might notice if there's no label at all."

_She thinks furiously for a minute._

"Look, there's a bottle of red wine on the sideboard. Bring it here. Wait! Put the kitchen gloves on first."

_He pushes his hands into the yellow rubber gloves, which are too small, and fetches the wine._

"This is a much smaller bottle." _He remarks, carrying it into the kitchen._

"Well, it's all I could –. It's the same colour glass, and it won't matter when it's smashed."

"Oh. _Um_ – shall I hit him again –?" _Greg seems willing to do it._

"No!" _Marcey goes into her crisis-prevention mode._

"It would be the wrong splash pattern. Put that down for now. Fetch the small bin-bags out from the drawer there. Gather up the label bits. You'll have to make sure there are none in – in his head."

_Glass crunches underfoot as Greg carefully examines the cupboard doors, the counter surface and then picks through the debris on the floor, depositing label and glass fragments into the bag. Finally he bends to look closely at the dead man's clothes, face and hair._

"Ohhh. I think I'll need tweezers." _He sounds a little queasy._

"Right. I'll fetch them."

_She sees the broken bottle's neck is still in her hand and sets it on the counter. Barefoot, she edges past the sprawling body that seems to fill the entire floor area of her small kitchen._

"Mind your feet – god, you'll cut your feet to ribbons!"

_As she passes and makes her way to the bathroom, Greg can see that she is still shaking and is truly terrified of her ex, even now. He looks back at the savage face of the dead man and mutters to himself._

"_Jesus_, what a brute. Why in the hell…?"

_Marcia brings the tweezers to him and retreats to the doorway._

"He wasn't like this when I married him."

_Greg looks up, stricken that she has overheard his comment._

"No, of course not; I'm sorry. People change –."

"Yeah, people change."

_She wipes at her eyes with a tissue, her hand trembling._

"Sometimes your best mate changes into your worst nightmare. Why do you think I'm working days and nights? It's not for the money, not only; it's to be out of the house, with other people. To be safe. With the catering, he could never know where I was evenings."

"He'd come round in a state like this?"

"Sometimes not so bad; a couple of times, worse."

"_Christ_, Marcey, I'm sorry…"

"Yeah. He must've had some charm left, for my sister to take up with him."

_She turns sadly from the doorway, catches sight of the clock in the sitting room and pulls herself together._

"_God_ – the time, Greg!"

_Down on his knees by the body, Greg fumbles with the tweezers but the ill-fitting gloves make it impossible to work._

"_Shit_. I can't – I'll have to take these off."

"No. I'll do it."

_She takes the tool from his hand, kneels beside him and, after a long shuddering breath, wipes her eyes with a sleeve and begins to pluck bits of glass and paper out of the scalp and ear, dropping them into the bag Greg holds open._

_He watches her closely with anxious concern, but then catches a glimpse of a perfect little breast and realizes that she is naked under the dressing gown. Greg's mental gears start to grind as he considers the implications of this, since she had been expecting to greet _him_ when she first answered the door._

"There. That's the lot."

_He forces his attention back to the task at hand. They stand up together, but Marcia sways off-balance and he reaches out to steady her. She panics and pushes away from him._

"Don't –. Don't –! Oh, _Jesus_."

_She trembles uncontrollably; Greg can't bear to see her like this and insists on putting his arms around her, but holding his hands, still in the rubber gloves, away from her back. She sobs on his shoulder, desperate for his comfort yet terrified of causing him to be implicated in the death._

_He speaks to her with an unexpected quiet strength._

"It's okay; I'll clear off. There'll be nothing for them to find, love. I promise."

_She looks into his face, seeking confirmation of his reassurance. He holds her gaze; she nods, takes a few deep breaths, and regains her composure._

"Right. Sorry. _Umh_… put the wine bottle inside this bag and smash it in the sink. Wrap this tea towel under it so the sink isn't scratched. Use this."

_She fishes a small hammer out of a drawer. Still wearing the rubber gloves, Greg raises the hammer and strikes the bottle several strong whacks._

_With each strike Marcia starts nervously. He sorts out the label fragments and drops them carefully and strategically around the head and body._

_They stand together surveying the scene._

"He pushed you backwards onto the table. You reached an arm out –."

"My_ left_ arm. Oh –!"

_She wipes off the large bottle neck again, visualising the angle and motion as Greg speaks, and wraps her left hand around it._

"You grabbed the bottle and hit him with it in self-defense."

_Marcia rehearses the actions of reaching blindly for the bottle and swinging it up and across to impact where Ben's head would have been._

"I'd have got hold of it this way –."

"It's a difficult angle, but still, you could've swung it pretty hard, given the –_ uh_, the circumstances."

"Yeah." _There's a world of understatement in her simple answer._

"Wait."

_Greg wets his gloved fingers in the bag in the sink and flicks wine droplets across Marcia's hair, face and robe._

"You'd have been splashed a bit, I think."

_As she blinks and flinches, she can't suppress an hysterical giggle._

"You're getting good at this."

_Greg has the sense not to find her remark amusing. _

_Marcia looks around and then turns her attention to the sink. She drains off the remaining liquid and wraps up the bag of broken glass and the soaked tea towel inside another bag. She runs the water in the sink to flush away the wine and rinses, dries and puts away the hammer. Greg peels the kitchen gloves off into the bag; she ties a knot to seal it and sets it in the sink._

"Who threw the vase? Cause it's clearly going _out_ of the kitchen." _He gestures to demonstrate its trajectory._ "Did you throw it at him?"

"No. No, that would seem like I was fighting with him, and I wasn't. I never fought with him – I never argued with him; it was more than my life w –. It was too dangerous. He'd pick a fight with his own shadow."

_Greg is visibly upset to hear this further truth about her past life and curses under his breath._

"Well, it's got his prints on it. He smashed it to scare you."

"Yeah, that's exactly what he'd do."

_Greg looks around, scanning for any important missed details, but everything looks correct._

"What about your neighbours? Won't someone have heard something or seen him - or me - come in? They'll be questioned, won't they?"

"My flat's the only one with windows on the front. The walls are pretty thick."

"Across the street?"

"They'd only ask if there was something not right."

_Marcia pushes back Greg's jacket sleeve to look at his watch._

"You have to go – it's been over thirty minutes. Don't carry that bag home, Greg. Throw it in a tip somewhere. Here's another bag for your shoes. Take them off at the door so you don't tread glass splinters out onto the stairs – or into your car."

_He looks down at the floor and sees bloody footprints._

"Marcey, your feet – oh, _Jes–!_"

"It's fine. I'll walk back and forth as if I were hysterical – that's what they'd expect. I probably will be after you've gone. They'll insist on taking me in to hospital. Don't try to phone. Wait til I phone you. Now go, please."

_He bites his lower lip and looks at her with deep sadness and worry._

"_Christ_, I want to kiss you."

_Her eyes fill with tears and she lightly brushes her lips across his._

_Greg takes the bags from the sink, removes and bags his shoes at the door, and before going down the stairs looks back for an instant._

_Marcey stands framed in the kitchen doorway, clutching the broken bottle in her hand, holding her robe together at her throat; her ex-husband lies dead on the floor behind her. She looks exactly right._

_In a flash of macabre humour Greg gives her the thumbs up._

_She can only stare back at him in disbelief._

_At the foot of the stairs he fishes out his handkerchief to open the door, wipes the handles, and steps out._

_In his car, Greg shoves the bags under the passenger seat and starts up the motor, but instead of leaving the area he goes around the block, turns up a side street and parks where he has a view of her building. He warily peers up at the surrounding windows, then slouches down to wait. A man with a dog strolls past on the pavement and Greg shrinks down as far as possible and mouths a curse under his breath. He keeps checking his watch, as it seems to be taking too long. He turns his mobile on. At last sirens sound in the distance, grow louder, and a police car and ambulance pull up in front of her flat. When the officers and attendants have gone in, he turns the ignition key and drives away._

tbc...


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

_Greg stops in a lane behind a pub and gets out to deposit one of the bin-bags in a half-full tip, looks around to make sure there is no one to see him, and pads back to the car in his socks. He drives on, stops at another tip, and leaves the second bag._

_He is rolling along the gravel drive leading to Rosehill House when his mobile trills the signal for a text message. He picks it up and reads: "St. Vincent's Hosp." He nods with relief and satisfaction that things seem to be going as planned._

_But as he rounds the last curve of the drive he sees unexpected lights on in the house. Linda's Volvo is parked at the front door._

_Why is she back? And how the hell will he explain his missing shoes?_

_Greg tiptoes in through the back door, hoping to get to his slippers, but Linda greets him from the hallway and enters the kitchen._

_Before she can speak he makes it clear that he is not pleased to see her._

"Did you forget something?"

"Well, no, I… Where are your shoes?"

"Stepped off the kerb into a pile of dog-shit. They were ruined; didn't want to tread it into the car."

_He is finding it very easy to lie to her now._

"Greg, those shoes were nearly a hundred –."

_She is stopped by the look he gives her. Linda puts on a bright smile._

"Well, no matter. Can't be helped. Would you like a drink?"

_He ignores her offer._

"What can I do for you, Linda?"

"I realized that I hadn't – I came back to apologise."

"Well, thanks. That's fine."

"No, it's not fine. Stan's given me a good dressing down. He says I've been a bloody fool. I'm startin' to see that he's right. It's just– Martin painted such a rosy picture for us that I stopped seeing what it was doing to you. And I really thought the business was failing, Greg, that your plans for this house were nothin' but a pipe dream. But now I know that Martin deceived us both. He schemed to make you look like a fool, and I –."

"Definition of a cuckold, i'n't it?"

_Linda is silenced and looks very uncomfortable._

"Look, I've accepted your apology. There's really nothing else to say, is there?"

"Isn't there? Twenty years, Greg…."

"Twenty? Well, this was really only our nineteenth, wasn't it? By my count we can knock off the last two years, at least. That's seventeen. If we add up all the nights you've stopped at Steph and Danny's - that brings it down to sixteen. The two months you took off to Scotland, plus the nights I've slept on the sofa in my office, we're down to fifteen. Oh, can't forget all the holidays with your girlfriends when I couldn't take time off work. We've really only had, say, fourteen-odd years. I got neckties older than that.

But I haven't kept my eye on your _every_ move. I trusted you. More fool me."

"Greg, please–."

"Hey, what d'ya know, I _can_ do maths. Best do the books myself from now on."

"You know not a penny of that money was spent, don't you? …Marcia thinks Martin was going to give it back."

"Yep, could be, after the house was sold, after you'd left me. Nice of him. Course, you'd've got half of it back in the divorce, anyway. Sixty grand's still a good take –."

_Greg stops as Linda dissolves in tears. She stands weeping helplessly. He sighs and shuts his eyes for a moment, then steps across to put his arms around her, muttering more to himself than her,_

"Bloody women."

_But he relents and says gently to her,_

"I'll stick the kettle on, shall I?"

_An hour later he sees her off in her car, saying,_

"Give my love to Steph."

_Back in the house, Greg checks both his mobile and the kitchen phone for messages, but finds none. He puts the two phones into his jacket pockets, pours himself a whisky and carries it into the den, but finds he's too restless to sit. Leaving the scotch on the table, he walks out to the unfinished showroom, flicks on the lights and wanders around in the clutter. He clears off some of Linda and Steph's furniture refinishing tools to uncover a set of architect's blueprints and holds them up as he looks about the room._

* * *

_At Marcia's flat, three days later:_

_Marcia spent her first day in hospital besieged by Social Workers and Crisis Counsellors. The second day she was eventually released from hospital into the care of a girlfriend. The police had asked her not to go to the flat until they'd finished up the investigation. After receiving permission, she returned home midday and has spent the afternoon cleaning up. _

_In the evening her mobile sits centrally on the coffee table. There are three anonymous text messages from Greg, asking simply, "You okay?"_

_As she moves about the flat she glances at it repeatedly, but she cannot bring herself to phone him. When the message comes through a fourth time, she texts back, "Okay. Home."_

_He immediately replies, "May I see you?" _

* * *

_Greg is in his usual place on the sofa in Marcia's sitting room, and he feels at home enough to have taken off his jacket. She sits beside him, but stares off into the flames flickering in the hearth._

"Have you spoken to your sister at all?"

"No. I left that to the police. Never been any love lost between us."

"And... your boy? Will she –."

"I expect she'll keep him. Dunno what she'll tell him. Not the truth – _er_, not the official truth."

_Greg has been listening sympathetically, but when she is silent for a prolonged moment he looks up, sensing her eyes upon him. For once she has trouble finding the right words._

"What? What is it?"

"It's just – well, I dunno quite how to thank –."

"Don't. We're quits. I'd just as soon never mention it again."

_Marcia is afraid he thinks less of her now that he knows she was an abused wife._

"Oh. Right. I'm sorry you had to see that; not in your class, _eh_?"

_Greg looks at her intently._

"Don't say that, Marcey; don't even think it – it's nothing to do with class: it's universal. Always has been, always will be."

"Still, not what you're used to – a bit raw."

_Greg shakes his head._

"I'm just glad I got here in time. Wish I'd been earlier."

_He touches her cheek with the back of his fingers and gazes at her with a troubled expression._

"Marcey…I've something I want to say, about Linda and me, if you don't mind."

"Okay."

"It's ...something I've never talked to anyone about. I want you to know."

_He takes in a deep breath, leans forward and laces his fingers together between his knees. Marcia turns her whole body towards him to listen, her knee up on the cushion._

"She used to drink. She'd nearly stopped this last year and I –."

_Greg stops with sudden realization, shuts his eyes for a moment, and then continues._

"When we first met it was pretty steady. I mean, early days we had lots of friends; we'd throw parties, go to garden dos, out for meals with people – she'd have too much to drink. Not just now and again. Every time. No one seemed to mind; just Linda getting sloshed again."

_He turns his head and gazes off in the opposite direction._

"But… afterwards, in the car, at home, she'd change, y'know? She'd start on about something I'd said or done and … just get really nasty. I'd always try to forget it, I mean, she was pissed; didn't mean anything, y_eah_?

"A few years on and she'd start onto me _at_ the party, in front of others. Start with some remark that everyone would laugh at, at first. Then she'd get going; people got uncomfortable with what she'd say – business stuff, personal stuff…

"I stopped mentioning invitations out; tried to keep our socialising to a smaller circle. Danny and Steph and a few others. But that just seemed to make it worse: we'd get home and she'd really pitch into me. There was no point in answering; it was just…"

"Hurtful."

"Yeah…"

"I know."

_His voice is very quiet and he seems on the verge of tears._

"And, _uh_ …"

_He runs his fingers across his forehead to screen his face._

"She started to hit me. She'd work herself up into a state, yelling, screaming, and she'd, y'know, start pushing me…on the chest, punch my arm, or slap me. I'd never respond, I mean, I'd never hit a woman. I'd never hit anybody–. Well, not…. I'd just walk away. Leave the house; go off in the car. Til she'd passed out."

_He sniffs and straightens up in his seat, but avoids looking at Marcia._

"In the morning – next day – she'd beg me to forgive her but somehow it really was never her fault. We'd go on as if it never happened."

_Marcia watches him with deep sadness and a tear spills down her cheek._

_Greg stares at the floor for a long minute._

"She wanted to start a family."

_He turns his head and looks up at Marcia._

"Well, it wasn't safe, was it? I couldn't see raising kids with her, knowing she had this … side of her. She was fine when she was sober. Kind, loving, responsible. Maybe she could've been a good mother, but – I wasn't willing to risk it. Not with children."

"Did she ever seem to want to get help?"

"Nope, not a problem; she was only a social drinker. I'd try talking to her, but she'd just shut me down. The most she ever did was, before a party she'd say, 'don't you let me drink too much.' Course if I said anything to her _at_ the party, she'd tell me to piss off, what was I playin' at spoilin' her fun? – As if there was something wrong with _me_."

"Yeah. Been there. I'm sorry, Greg."

_She puts her hand on his arm and he sits back on the sofa, looking relieved to have shared his secret._

"So, you see, Marcey, you an' me, we've more in common than you knew; more than I knew."

_Marcia settles in under the embrace of his arm and rests her head on his shoulder. She lays her hand on his chest and they sit in thoughtful silence._

_After some time Marcia lifts her head to kiss him tenderly under the ear. As she unfastens his top two buttons, he watches her fingers with growing alarm. She slips her hand inside his shirt, but Greg is nervous; he takes hold of her hand and brings her fingers up to his lips._

"Marcey, we d-don't have to rush into anything we're not ready –."

_She silences him by looking directly into his eyes, and murmurs softly._

"Oh, do bugger off."

_With a saucy, seductive half-grin, she takes his hand and cups his fingers over her breast. Greg gives a startled little cry of pleasure, smiles and moves in to kiss her enthusiastically._

* * *

End credits photo montage:

1. Greg and Marcia, Eugene and the shop lads, and Verna, their bookkeeper, under the new business sign: "Brentwood Burgess."

2. Greg and Marcia's Registry Office wedding, with Danny and Steph looking uncomfortable but smiling, and Marcia's friends looking gobsmacked but smiling.

3. Greg and Marcia on honeymoon trip, perhaps Greece.

4. Greg with his arms around a very pregnant Marcia beaming in front of a lovely house, with SOLD marked over the real estate agent's sign.

5. Standard hospital photo of Marcia in bed, Greg leaning in next to her, each holding one of their newborn twins – a boy and a girl.

6. Candid photo of a garden party: Steph and Danny with their kids, now teenagers; Greg and Marcia and their toddlers with older teen who can only be Marcia's son, Ben; other assorted friends and kids.

7. Final photo is a fancy-dress party. Greg and Marcia and their two kids all in prison stripes, with Steph and Danny dressed as Keystone cops.

The End.


End file.
